Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles
by white lotus
Summary: Memories of yesterday, reflections of today and dreams of tomorrow...
1. Talent

**A/N - **Another set of drabbles... Simply because there's something about this fandom that I can't stay away from. Too many things are left unsaid, or incomplete, and the amount of room remaining for speculation is just too vast. So when inspiration bites, I take up the pen and pound it out on the keyboard. Will contain the odd RoyAi drabble, but I'll make an effort to write something other than what's already been repeated ad nauseam. As always, I'm open to all forms of comments, queries and criticism.

**Disclaimer - **I don't own Full Metal Alchemist. This applies for the lot of drabbles, because, frankly, I don't get much out of typing this over and over when it's painfully obvious.

**Thanks to - **Su-chan, my beta: Thanks for taking the time. (I know how much of a pain I can be sometimes)

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Talent **

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With the innocent pride and excitement of a three-year-old who'd just learnt how to write his alphabet and was bursting to show off, Roy seized Riza by the wrist and led her into the room, Black Hayate yapping encouragement at their heels.

He invited her to sit down, dragging out the large, dusty gramophone - an artifact worthy of a glass case in a museum - and catching the expression of puzzled exasperation on his Lieutenant's face, told her to trust him. She was going to _love_ it, it was _that_ good.

He proceeded to produce a record and placed it on the player, winding it up before gently, almost reverently positioning the needle.

As the opening bars waltzed about them, Black Hayate stood to attention and Riza couldn't help but laugh as her Colonel and her pet dog belted and barked out her favourite song, in oddly matched, but perfect harmony.


	2. Target Practice

**A/N - **Edward's adorable when he's pissed off. But don't tell him I said that.

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Target Practice**

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_Thunk._

Havoc paused, exhaling a blue-grey plume of smoke outside the Elrics' temporary dorm.

_Thunk._

It sounded as though the Major had just had another interview with the Colonel, and was taking it out on the furniture.

_Thunk._

Or perhaps, the door.

_Thunk._

Drawing thoughtfully on his cigarette, the Second Lieutenant wondered whether it would be wise to defuse the undersized time bomb of a blond temper tantrum before he disfigured anything beyond repair.

_Thunk._

He pushed the door open - and almost bit through the roll of tobacco in his mouth in shock as something pitched at an incredible speed whizzed past his ear.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Edward's icy tone matched his glare. In his left hand, he clutched a fistful of darts, in his right, yet another potential missile, poised to be launched at the back of the door.

Havoc craned his neck to peer at the target, formerly a mission report, now a very punctured piece of paper. On the blank side, Edward had, with his phenomenal artistic ability, drawn a pudgy-looking figure with a scribble of black hair and an evil grin. In official red letters, he'd labelled the diagram "MUSTANG BASTARD".

"Can I help you?" The boy bit down on his words testily.

For a moment, Havoc stared rudely at the metallic glint of automail just visible beneath Edward's glove. "No," he replied.

"Good. Shut the door."

"Right, Boss. He carefully pulled the door closed. As the lock clicked into place, there was a growl from within, the sound prompting another _Thunk._


	3. Older Brother

**A/N - **Just for the record, despite being a fan of shounen-ai, I rather dislike any EdxRoy pairings and wholly oppose incest of any kind... That said and done, feel free to interpret my drabbles anyway you like! XD

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Older Brother**

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They don't argue very often, the Elric Brothers. Edward can be a steamroller of a bully and Alphonse is quickly upset by even the slightest disagreement, so yielding to his older brother's whims and often rash decisions seems safer than openly opposing him, for the sake of their fraternal relationship. 

However, fights are inevitable between two teenage boys, and when they _do_ argue, the results aren't pleasant to witness.

Comforting the guilt-ridden, sulking suit of armour is left to Lieutenant Hawkeye, while the remaining officers opt to steer well clear of the grumpy Midget Major, for fear of becoming the next victim of his automail arm.

Strangely enough, the blond boy finds himself seeking out the very person he can't stand, for reasons neither of them will ever fully comprehend.

Even though the workload is ridiculously large and the place is as hectic as an agitated bees' hive, Roy manages to put aside a minute or two over a cup of tea (because it's only proper) for the Elric Brat.

Lay off the short jokes, kill the sarcastic comments.

He doesn't provide meaningful advice, because his reserves are dry - They've never really been full to start with; the only thing he can offer is his attention.

For the younger of the two, this is enough.

It's tough being an older sibling, and when you're Edward Elric, this is painfully true. So, sometimes, he pretends to be the younger sibling and leaves the role of Older Brother to Roy.

The dark-haired man is a reassurance, a welcome comfort, security found in the least expected of places. A white, gloved hand on the unnaturally cold shoulder, a soothing word in his ear, feigned ignorance as the tears gathered in the corners of those large amber eyes threaten to spill.

Frustration writhes in the pit of Edward's soul, thriving off his silent suffering. The temporary relief is more than welcome, and Roy watches, his heart overflowing with pity for the boy that was forced to grow up much too fast, as he strides from the office, radiating that brash pride that reminds the Colonel so much of his younger self.

No thanks, no show of gratitude.

For as much as Edward privately appreciates these quiet moments, he'd sooner transmute his own right foot than ever admit it out loud.


	4. Insomnia I

**A/N - **Exams approaching, stress building, inspiration having a feeding frenzy on my focus. (Oooh. Alliteration.)

**Thanks to - **Su-chan! I wuv you to bits! And to **MusicalRileyChan, QueenBrooke, K. A. Maples, WildfireDreams, Spearette **and **ElasticBobaTurtle**, thanks a million for your warm and encouraging reviews!

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Insomnia - Part I**

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There are several advantages to having a body of steel. One of these is the elimination of physical exhaustion. In all the time Alphonse has inhabited his suit of armour, he has not once had to complain of the cold, the heat, shortness of breath, aches or pains, hunger, illness or discomfort of any kind. 

Due to this lack of physical wear, Alphonse has no need to sleep. This presents one of the _disadvantages_ of having a body of steel:

Killing six to eight hours by lying still in a bed you can't feel isn't much fun.

Sometimes he sits by the window of whatever room they've managed to secure a place for the night as if attempting to memorise every last detail of view, but most of the time he's in a chair by Edward's side, watching his older brother sleep, listening for the slow, steady pattern of inhale, pause. Exhale.

At times, the interval between breaths extends for too long and Alphonse strains to catch the exhale, waits for an excruciating eternity before the gentle sigh escapes the parted lips and relief quells his irrational anxieties.

Then, the wait starts over.

Provided with excess time and unable to retire his mind, Alphonse has developed the tendency to over-think. It makes him feel much too old, this endless, unbroken consciousness, with his only means of rest through deep meditation.

The technique allows him to empty his thoughts, free his awareness from stress and for a while, forget. Their Sensei had been the one to teach it to them, and Alphonse has exercised his knowledge of this practice enough times to make up for the fact that Edward doesn't.

_When you're mad or upset, tired, or you just want to get away from it all..._

Inhale. Count - two. Exhale.

He pretends to imitate his brother, matching the rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest, counting until the numbers climb to twenty, then backwards, down to zero, over and over, and eventually, it's all hazy nonsense, like trying to read smudged characters on a palate of black.

Zero. Empty. Nothing.

It's bliss being able to know nothing.

But it does get so terribly lonely.


	5. Some More?

**A/N - **Randomness is fun. Um... The suspicious confectionary? Let's just _pretend _they had those during their time...

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Some More?**

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Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye stood in the doorway, stunned. For a moment, she merely blinked, unable to comprehend the scene before her, and she wondered whether all her time in service had finally brought about a plausible detrimental result to her sanity. 

Or maybe she just _really_ needed some coffee.

From a paper bag, Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc fished a few small, soft round, spongy objects and lobbed them aimlessly across the room. On the other side, Colonel Mustang raised a pyrotex-clad hand and snapped his fingers, engulfing the items in a neat tongue of flame.

The scent of caramelised sugar filled the office.

Sometimes seated, other times nervously hovering between the officers was Fuery with a plate of crackers. Sandwiching the somewhat charred morsels, he drizzled melted chocolate from a bowl all over the sticky creations.

So engaged were these men in their activity, that it required five whole minutes of gawking on the Lieutenant's part for them to acknowledge Riza's presence, at which Fuery offered her the plate.

"S'more?"

Riza felt her hand twitch irresistibly towards her holster.


	6. Insomnia II

**A/N - **A bit of dialogue between brothers.

**Thanks to - **Su-chan (thanks for picking up that silly mistake XD), **K. A. Maples, WildfireDreams, Torii, chocolatelova **and **ElasticBobaTurtle** very much for your reviews! -huggles for wonderful reviewers-

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Insomnia - Part II**

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"Brother?"

"Yes, Al?"

"Why is the sky blue?"

"I read in a Physics book somewhere that the light from the Sun is scattered by gases in the atmosphere. Blue is scattered the most, and so the sky looks blue."

"Oh. Wow."

A pause.

"Brother?"

"What, Al?"

"My body's made of steel, right?"

"I would say so, yes."

"So why don't I rust in the rain?"

"Because it's _stainless_ steel. I thought you knew that."

"Eheh... I did. I just forgot."

"How could you forget a thing like _that_?"

"Brother..."

A sigh.

"_Yes,_ Al?"

"What does it feel like to be tickled, again? I can't remember."

"Brother?"

"Go to sleep, Al."


	7. Momento

**A/N - Spoilers for episode 25...** Kinda. I love Maes. Unbeta'd... (Sorry Su-chan!)

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Memento**

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Several months after the war, Maes had proposed to Gracia.

He'd insisted upon Roy being best man, had coaxed him into the role by saying it was a favour he owed a best friend. Roy took a secret pride in having been offered the position.

He was there when Maes fumbled with the ring and dropped it, had surreptitiously pressed a handkerchief into the groom's hand when the green eyes filled with emotion and Maes pledged himself to serve and cherish Gracia for the rest of his life - Roy had to suppress the tears that threatened to fall on his part as his best friend laid a chaste kiss on the lips of the bride and all but carried her out of the chapel. The sound had bubbled up and out his mouth and the best man laughed shamelessly as it rained from clear grey storm clouds.

There was a photo of them after the ceremony, among shots of the couple, their parents and various relatives, a simple sepia memory taken of the groom and his best man, Maes with an arm about Roy's shoulders, both men high on champagne and happiness, flushed with the joy of the other's company.

Roy's hair was tousled the wrong way and Maes' tie was undone, but it didn't matter. Roy had the picture framed and it sat on his bedside table, next to the photos of them in military attire, the imperfection of the moment, beautiful next to the strict formality of blue dress-uniform.

The image isn't there anymore. The Colonel's hidden the picture somewhere dark and lonely, along with the photos of Maes, Gracia and Elyssia, because he can't stand to look at them, not yet.

One day, though, he'll find them again, and it won't hurt as much to remember that for weeks afterwards, Maes had carried around his own copy of the snapshot and told anyone who cared to listen: "Look, look. This is Roy Mustang: He's gonna be big, you know. He was my best man."


	8. Insomnia III

**A/N - **Daybreak. This is not the end of Insomnia... Though I'm not quite sure how many Al-drabbles my writingmuse is willing to prod me into doing.

**Thanks to - **Su-chan, for providing comfort and reliable judgement. Also thanks to **WildfireDreams, Absinthe **(Su-chan), **MetalWing Alchemist, igbogal, QueenBrooke, ElasticBobaTurtle and lazy fat kitsune **for the splendiferous reviews!

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Insomnia - Part III**

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There seems to be a nest of pigeons in a nearby tree. Alphonse can hear the faint croon of the bird calling to its mate as dawn rinses out the inky blue of last night with a dilute wash of sunlight.

He's used to moving in his suit of armour, manipulating the motion of his joints to make as little sound as possible as he reaches into the jumble of garments at the foot of Edward's bunk and locates his brother's silver State Alchemist watch.

He should be up by now. Edward can't stand to be late for anything, especially when it concerns routine: A minute spent sleeping in is worse than fifteen wasted, according to the elder Elric.

But as much as Alphonse dreads the inevitable scolding he'll receive when Edward flies into a scarlet rage for having been neglected to be woken, he's almost certain that it would be a sin to disturb the peaceful smile on his brother's face.


	9. Gettin' Old

**A/N - **The Colonel's jokes _are_ eventually going to run out of steam.

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Gettin' Old**

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Falman squinted at the piece of paper attached to the crimson background. 

_KICK ME. (If by butt is too low for you, you can always do my head in)_

When the Major finally discovered the offensive label, Colonel Mustang would be responsible for catalysing the absolute devastation of three separate offices, a locker room and a ten metre stretch of corridor.


	10. The Negotiator

**A/N - **Apologies for the extended absence.The usual excuses apply: Exams, homework, assessments, etc. Thanks forwaiting...

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**The Negotiator**

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One thing that Riza had always admired and feared of her Colonel was his ability to manipulate words. His tongue was quicksilver: Chatting up women was second nature, and articulation with the superiors was his forte - countless times he had evaded demotion by smoothly justifying his actions. Exclude a word here, an insertion in the correct context; exploiting syntax with a smile was his favourite weapon beside his pyrotex gloves.

Riza imagined Roy could talk schools of fish out of the ocean, the Moon out of the sky. Hell, if he could convince an entire regiment of officers to willingly sacrifice their lives on his behalf at a single command, this man was capable of anything.

He was doing it again now: Talking a situation his way, bending the rules as well as the will that opposed him with a deft tongue and a voice that was so deep, soft and comfortable, that one could not help but surrender their trust to its owner.

Riza sighed, awed and somewhat annoyed as Roy won again.

As she returned to snuggle beneath the covers, pressing her back against the warmth of his bare chest, she warned him that she was only going to oblige him for another five minutes. His response was a victorious chuckle into her neck.

Roy wasn't too bothered by her threat: His skills in negotiation knew no bounds.


	11. Indulgence

**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Indulgence**

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The ocean rushed at the shore, merciless and cold, a grey like the steel of a certain automail arm. The day seemed to be in a bad mood: overcast and brooding over the absence of the Sun while the wind clawed at the red coat pulled defiantly about the shoulders of a sulky fifteen-year-old, the only hint of colour able to be seen for perhaps miles.

Amber eyes peered up at the equally cheerless sky. Looked like rain.

A sigh: "Al. Remind me why we're at the beach in this weather."

When this was met with no response, Edward turned, the wind whipping a generous serving of his braid into his mouth. "Al?" He raspberried in an attempt to get the blond strands away. "Al? Al!" For a giant suit of armour, Alphonse sure was proficient when it came to disappearing without a trace.

Edward squinted as he scanned the shoreline. Where on Ear -

"Here I am, Brother!"

There was a great, wobbling stumble and a violent flurry of flailing arms as Edward made a valiant effort to prevent himself falling face first into the sand.

He failed miserably.

"What'dya think you're doing?" He snapped, rising to brush himself off with as much dignity as he could muster.

In reply, Alphonse offered his brother a cone of something white, dripping and sticky.

"Ice cream?" Edward asked blankly.

Alphonse nodded and might have smiled if he could. "Vanilla."

The blond boy gently took the cone and stared at it as though it wasn't quite real. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had something like this. White rivulets trickled down the sides of the slowly softening cone and onto his gloves. He stared a bit more.

Then tentatively, his tongue ventured out and saved the next stream of melted vanilla ice, up to receive a mouthful of coldness that made his head hurt. Edward shivered. It was good.

He lapped up the dessert with a hungry, childish delight that Alphonse had forgotten his older brother possessed. All too soon, the ice cream was gone and Edward was considering his glove with mild disappointment and what seemed like the notion of possibly sucking on the fabric for what was left of the vanilla flavour. He turned to Alphonse and grinned.

"Anymore where that came from?"


	12. Kindling

**A/N - **I kind of get the feeling that I might have made Roy somewhat too young in this drabble... I mean, Alchemy sounds like pretty complex stuff - way too advanced for a six-year-old kid, but my (pretty weak) reasoning stands thus: You'd only catch Roy Mustang doing something this stupid while sober at this age.

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Kindling**

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The very first time Roy Mustang had summoned fire was when he was six, and still spoke with a lisp.

He'd read his father's books about Alchemy and found the science fascinating. After a successful attempt at transmuting a random array of papers (which turned out to be rose-scented for some odd reason that he never figured out) from a faggot, Roy decided to move onto demostrations of a more spectacular nature - the diagram of an oxygen-based combustion enthralled the dark-haired boy and he read the captions accompanying the illustrations with dedicated interest: It didn't seem so hard... And it looked like a lot of fun.

The alchemic circle was a clumsy, slightly shaky thing, scrawled in his mother's sewing chalk on the floor of his bedroom and copied from the thick volume. The simple fact that he was performing the transmutation _in his room_ was his first mistake.

His second mistake was inviting his twitchy, highly jittery cousin to watch. The younger boy jiggled like a spider in an upset web as Roy pressed his hands onto the polished oak floor and told his cousin to strike the pair of flint stones over the circle.

His third mistake was drawing the circle ridiculously close to the long, blue curtains.

There was a spark.

There was a flare, lasting barely over three seconds.

There was a terrified gasp.

And two things happened at once.

Hardly possessing the mental stability for this sort of excitement, Roy's cousin sank into a dead faint as the curtains caught fire.

Fortunately, Roy was an intelligent lad, and despite his panic, managed to maintain enough rational thought to seek the closest source of water. Sacrificing his poor goldfish, he dumped the contents of Bubbles' bowl onto the burning blue and highly flammable fabric, successfully smothering the flames. (His father had explained later, to a teary, sniffling Roy that this was the Law of Equivalent Exchange: Bubbles had died for the sake of the curtains. It was a noble death... And they had been expensive curtains.)

After suffering an ear-ringing scolding and a sore bottom (It was amazing how hard his mother's soft hands felt when brought down with enough force on that particular area), Roy had mourned for Bubbles and vowed, at the tender age of six years and five months that he would never transmute gases again.

Which was why he completely forgot about this when he did it again two weeks later.


	13. Matters of the Heart

**A/N - **I apologise for the rushed update last time... It's rushed a little this time too, but I have to thank my lovely reviewers! I'm nothing without you! This drabble left me feeling a little depressed, but when you're dealing with the Elric brothers, it's odd.

**Thanks to - **Su-chan, as always -salutes- and my reviewers! **chocolatelova, ElasticBobaTurtle, lazy fat kitsune, unexpection and dyingstar-elipsis...**Thanks so much, guys!

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**Matters of the Heart**

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Edward can tell his brother is nervous. The younger Elric has been unusually agitated lately; unable to sit still for too long, obviously distracted by something his over-active mind has conjured into mental being.

So he waits until Alphonse is ready to voice his thoughts. He doesn't look it, but Edward can be remarkably patient when it suits his purpose. His silence is rewarded at last, halfway through another train ride when Alphonse prods him into awareness with a timid finger and asks, "Brother, remember that fight we had?"

Amber eyes blink, uncomprehending.

"You know, the one you told me about, when you said you wanted to marry Winry, and I said no, because _I_ wanted to marry Winry and -"

"S'matter?" Edward interrupted, his voice slightly slurred at the edges. "You miss Winry? You wanna go home 'n visit her?"

"Um, _no_…"

Edward watches Alphonse twiddle his thumbs, jiggle his knee and gaze, unseeing at the scenery rushing by. It's almost funny.

"Al?"

"Who won the fight?"

"Huh...?"

"Who won, Brother? Me or you?"

"... I can't remember... I think it was me. But when I went to tell her, she said I was stupid and that she'd rather marry Den."

"Oh. Really?"

Edward straightens from his slouch, frowning slightly at his younger brother. "It was so long ago. I honestly can't remember the details. What's wrong, Al? I thought we cleared up all this about having fake memories. I mean, it's normal to forget things -"

"It's not that."

If suits of armour possessed sweat glands, Edward is pretty sure Alphonse's would have been working extra hard at the moment.

"Al, what's _wrong_?"

"Brother... How much do you like Winry?"

"She's my best friend. She can be a bit grouchy sometimes when it comes to issues with automail but otherwise she's nice and -"

"No, I mean, how much do you _like_ Winry, Brother?"

The sheer force of the actual question being asked strikes Edward hard enough to render him speechless. "I-I..." He scrabbles for words no longer present in coherent structure and they escape too, leaving him with nothing to defend himself.

He should have seen this coming - Should have spotted it a bloody mile off with sirens blaring, a giant orange banner and big green lettering.

Slow doesn't even _start_ to describe how Edward's feeling. With a great deal of internal struggle he finally recovers his voice. "Al… You have a crush on Winry." The fact, now voiced, sits between the brothers, grinning eerily at them and Edward is almost convinced that suits of armour can blush.

"Yeah," Alphonse whispers.

The pause stretches for eternity and beyond.

"So... Do you _like_ Winry, Brother?"

The hawk-like gaze seems capable of cutting into the steel being that looks like he'll commence shaking and falling apart at any moment now. Consideration paces behind Edward's impassive mask like a caged beast and the blond boy pushes the last pieces of the puzzle together. What difference would it make if he said yes?

"No. Not in that way."

And for a terrifying second, he's afraid that Alphonse really _is_ going to fall apart.

There's an odd sound, starting somewhere beneath Alphonse's breastplate and travelling up to his helmet, and suddenly, Edward realises that his brother is giggling.

"Oh, _Edward!_ I'm so happy! I thought you liked her too, and then it'd be all weird because we'll both be fighting over her..."

_But it **is**__all weird, Al. Don't you see?_

He'd be smiling now, Edward is sure of it. The thought makes him smile too: A shaky thing, all trembling and weak.

"So if you don't _like_ Winry, who _do_ you like?"

A low burst of mirthless laughter escapes from parted lips as the elder Elric leans back, clasping his gloved hands behind his head and closing his eyes. He's afraid of Alphonse seeing the truth in them. "I don't _like_ anyone, Al."

He will never _like_ anyone for as long as he lives, because as far as he's aware, he will only ever love, and he will only ever love one person.

His heart is too full of Alphonse to make room for anyone else.


	14. No More!

**A/N - **Had to follow it up with _something..._

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**Snapshots, Sketches and Scribbles**

**No More - **_Sequel to "Some More?"_

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Riza knew she should have called in sick that day.

Second Lieutenant Havoc ground his teeth on the butt of his cigarette, wearing nothing but his socks and boxers, trailing wonky circles around Sergeant Fuery, a snivelling ball of blue uniform, black hair and broken glasses curled up on the floor as he clutched Havoc's left boot and positively sobbed.

But this wasn't nearly as bad as what was happening on the other side of the office. Sitting on top of his desk (fully clothed, much to Riza's relief and mild disappointment), Colonel Mustang giggled hysterically as he reduced every last document they'd filed during the last three months to a small pile of smouldering white ash.

Lesson for today: Sugar, alcohol and State officers are not a good combination.

"Eeeeeeeeeaaaahy, Goorgezz," Havoc stumbled over to Riza, lifting an arm to drape around her shoulders and missed completely to land face first on the floor.

For the second time in as many amount of hours, Riza felt her hand twitch irresistibly towards her holster.


End file.
